I went to a memorial for my friend Ingie.

The service made me fall in love with her all over again. It was that lovely, that perfect.

She was my next door neighbor when I was growing up, like a low key grandma to me. When I got locked out, I’d go over to her house. We got to open her Christmas presents the night before. She admired me in my prom dress.

But she lived so incredibly long, 101 years, I got to be friends with her as an adult. We’d write poems together. She told me how much she hated going blind. She asked me to buy her a waterproof tablecloth for the bed. She trusted me with that. Her cheeks were so soft, so nice to kiss. I liked being with her even as her aging scared me. I brought both my children to meet her. I wish I had visited more often.

At the service they said she had a huge heart, was a good sport, a great teacher, easy to be with, and not afraid to speak her mind. That’s the Ingie I knew. That’s the woman I was lucky enough to know.